


Across the Board

by Fylgia



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-11 03:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5612626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fylgia/pseuds/Fylgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vivienne has collected chess pieces since childhood. Every one of those pieces holds significant personal meaning to her. This is a series of drabbles examining those pieces. </p>
<p>It's a series of one shots/drabbles, each focused on the story behind a specific piece. Ratings and potential pairings will vary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of drabbles based on the Dragon Age kinkmeme prompt: Vivienne has a secret. She is collector of... ballerina figurines? tiny dolls? fairytale books for children? (Your choice, as long as it's sweet and possibly a tad embarrassing for an adult.)
> 
> Why does she collect? What is the sentimental value of it? How and why does she keep her collection a secret?

When Vivienne watched the Inquisitor gracefully seal the fate of Grand Duchess Florianne with a mere word, she could not help to wonder if she had ever seen the Game played to such perfection. The court had not seen it coming in the slightest and she doubted they would forget the tiny elf that had not only charmed, but outwitted them. 

It had been a surprise when Ellana had approached her a fortnight before the ball. Not because Vivienne was not an accomplished player of the Game, but because the Inquisitor had the Nightingale herself as her closest advisor. The request had been without demand, simple, and far too humble. 

“Please, teach me how to dance.”

Thinking it a pleasant diversion from the simple pleasures and endless mundane chores one associated with Skyhold, Vivienne had agreed. 

 

It had not been a simple task, but it was not a tendency to quit that had caused her to be known as the Lady of Iron. Ellana struggled with the formality of the posture, the firm pattern of the steps, and it seemed impossible for the elf to remember that she did not have the floor to herself. Ellana understood rhythm, that much was evident from her performance on the battlefield, but it seemed she was incapable of remembering patterns. 

“Tell me, my dear. Why turn to me in your hour of need?” Vivienne hid a frown as Ellana once again forgot to turn to face her. “Surely your advisors would have introduced you to Orlesian etiquette?”

“With utmost dedication” the elf shook her head softly. “I can tell spoons from other spoons, charm a bronco into signing a trade agreement, and provide vague answers to any question. But this…”

“Your people do not dance?”

“Oh, we dance. To drums and flutes, mainly.” The Inquisitor chuckled. “Not to the sound of fear and backstabbing.”

“Then do not think of this as dancing, darling.” Vivienne reached out to prevent the Inquisitor from backing into the wall. “Think of this as combat. As the Game itself.”

“How?”

“See this floor? Imagine it a field of battle, factions guided by seasoned strategists. Each move potentially lethal, perfectly planned, and flawlessly executed.” She moved to stand next to the Inquisitor, a sweeping gesture of her hand creating floating wisps of magic to mark the positions of their imaginary competitors on the floor. “Everyone plays their part.”

“Like chess, then?”   
“Like chess. And you, my dear, start out as the knight. Two steps forward, one to the right.”

 

Not even the prospect of sharing a tent with Cassandra on the road dampened her mood and she allowed herself to smile as she heard the gates of the city close behind them. A job well done was a reward in and of itself, but it was the surprise and adoration on their faces that she would cherish for weeks to come. The judgement of the court was swift and brutal, yet next to her walked a Dalish mage who had charmed them in a single night. It was a victory for the Inquisition. For Orlais. And for Vivienne herself. 

This had been her first appearance at court since she had joined the Inquisition. It had not been an easy choice to make, but fortune had once again favoured the brave. From the third daughter of a minor noble to stand at the side of the Empress, and now to the heart of the Inquisition. The Game given her a chance to see the world and machinations beyond the echoing halls of Orlais, a luxury few even dared dream of. 

“Vivienne?” 

“Inquisitor, what can I do for you?” She had been deep in thought but managed to hide her surprise. “Your performance this evening was truly remarkable. Enjoy this moment, my dear. Victory tastes even sweeter when obtained through hard work.”

“I wanted to thank you, tonight would not have gone so smoothly had it not been for your assistance.” The Inquisitor grabbed her hand and Vivienne felt a weight against her palm. “I… obtained this in the Royal Wing. I believe it belonged to Florianne herself.”

Vivienne looked down and for the first time in years, the mask fell from her face.  
In her hand was a small, golden chess piece. A knight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White Tower - a piece for lost mages

She had been very young when she passed her Harrowing. It had been a necessity and she had done everything in her power to ensure that the ritual took place as early as possible. Vivienne still remembered the demon who had sought to tempt her and she still felt a faint taste of iron when she thought of those few seconds when she had hesitated. Fourteen was a dreadful age for anyone, especially when one was tasked with controlling magic and resisting demons under the threat of execution. 

It remained one of her most cherished victories. She knew all too well the price of losing such a battle. Young mages who never returned, the exhausted look in the templars’ faces the next day, and the painfully empty seats. She had lost a good friend to a Harrowing. They had been the same age, from very different backgrounds.

Merise had been the daughter of a struggling merchant. Every child in her family had developed magic, leaving her family without hope of continuing the family business for much longer. Vivienne had been drawn to her intelligence and her warm smile. Not showing any sign of magical abilities until she turned fifteen, Merise had been her family’s last hope. Thus she had been trained in all the skills a merchant would need. Vivienne found her talents intriguing, how Merise would seemingly always know what those around her needed. When it was one of her friends, Merise would gladly give them whatever they needed. When it was an enemy, it would be used against them. There was no cruelty in Merise, only a strong urge to protect and be protected. In a land so obsessed with nobility and rank, the talents of regular civilians would often be overlooked. That, thankfully, was a mistake Vivienne had never allowed herself to make. To this day, she still thought of Merise as one of the most treasured friends she had ever had.

She still remembered where she had been when a red eyed templar had told her the news. Seated on the balcony, basking in the sunlight, nervously waiting for Merise to return. Their game of iced chess magically frozen in time, the half melted pieces having remained in their positions overnight. She remembered how the sunlight had made his armour cast a blinding light, how she’d looked up in surprise, and how her heart had shattered when he quietly shook his head. It was one of only a handful of times in her entire life that she had cried openly. 

Out of all the pieces she kept in that little locked box hidden among her books, the half melted tower of ice was the one she always struggled to look at.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vivienne plays a game of chess with Cullen and introduces the Grand Game to Skyhold politics.

That they have very little in common is clear from the start. The commander of the Inquisition’s army has very little interest in politics, wears the most peculiar armour, and seemed to detest any form of refined foods. Yet Vivienne has to admit she has a soft spot for the Fereldan. For someone who refuses to play the Grand Game, he is remarkably proficient in hiding the shaking in his hands. After the battle at Adamant, it is clear that he is a brilliant strategist. He is also one of the few who shares her ambivalence towards the Templars. 

It is the issue of the Templars that seem to cause a lot of unrest in Skyhold. Vivienne has heard the whispers among the Inquisition’s mages and she knows all too well the danger of such whispers. Although she is aware of the suspicion most of them hold towards her, it is common knowledge that Vivienne has never been one to support transgressions made by the order. Conservative, certainly, but never a supporter of cruelty towards innocents. Even the rebel mages give her that much credit.

She knows what happened in Kirkwall, knows he served under Meredith’s iron rule. There are few mages who haven’t heard those rumours. Most of them know and are reluctant to forget. Most mages haven’t read the reports from the Blight. She has read Irwing’s letters. That the commander is willing to work with the rebel mages is a miracle. 

She approaches him after she witnesses his third victory over Dorian. 

“Commander, would you be inclined to play another game?” She notices the surprised look on his face. “The Grand Hall is being treated to a visit from Orzammar and I find myself appreciating the fresh air of the gardens.”

“Vivienne? I… of course.” He gestures for her to sit down and readies the board.

Although he is decidedly Fereldan, the commander is too courteous to refuse a simple and harmless request. She suspects he is unaccustomed to mages approaching him for anything other than formal matters. With him, she estimates that it is best to keep it simple. It is true that there is a dwarven delegation being seen to in the Great Hall. That she neglected to tell him that this is most certainly the hour of the day when the more pious of the mages visit the chapel, is besides the point. That Vivienne knows that Fiona and Mother Giselle always linger in the gardens following the enchanter’s visit to the chapel is a mere detail. The commander has no interest in the Grand Game.

The game is pleasant and she keeps the conversation light, unthreatening. She learns that he grew up near Honnleath of all places, and she explains how she ended up in Orlais despite having been born in the Free Marches. He plays well and she is pleased to learn that his face doesn’t announce his moves before they are made. They trade anecdotes about mage and templar trainings, but beyond that they steer away from conversations about the circles, the order, or the future of the mages. His laughter is friendly when she tells him the story of how she as a teenager once accidentally froze her own food mid-meal after being distracted by a particularly handsome visiting enchanter. It is a story that was well known long before she entered into Orlesian politics and one of the many reasons she had asked to be transferred to Orlais. It has become the story she tells people when they need to see a more personal side of her. 

The mages are on time, a group of seven that she knows have always struggled with the tensions between their religious and political beliefs. It is not long before she hears the footsteps of Fiona and Mother Giselle as they exit the chapel. The conversation turns towards a detail of the Grand Game that she learns has confused the Commander for months.

“What is the idea behind the shoes?” His question is genuine and his expression bewildered.

“My dear Commander, what on earth are you referring to?” She controls her smile but cannot resist pushing him further.

“Leliana, yourself, Josephine, and every female noble in Orlais all seem to care a great deal about shoes. Surely there must be some purpose behind this… fascination.”

“We speak with our feet, darling” She cannot tell if he is annoyed with her vague answer or found it degrading to be called such a term. “The masks aim to hide our faces, to ensure that our expressions do not reveal anything we wish to hide. The shoes are carefully crafted to express what we want others to see, they are our outward expression and can be a statement bolder than open declarations.”  
“There’s a secret language of shoes?” He shakes his head and laughs again. “This is why I will never understand Orlais.”

“And I suspect Orlais finds it equally confusing why someone would decide to wear half a bear over their armour.”

“It gets cold .”

In the end, she is victorious. It is a narrow victory and the game was one of the more enjoyable ones she has played since leaving Orlais. She is the last mage to leave the garden.

 

Four days later, one of Skyholds messengers finds her in the library, bent over a book on the alchemical virtues of stormheart. Only a short message is written on the note that is handed to her.

‘Segregation at meals appears to have ended. Well played. - Cullen’

 

That night she returns to the gardens and plucks one of the pawns off the stone table. It appears to be made from granite and is by far the most mundane piece in her collection. She suspects a new pawn will be brought to the board within hours the following day and swears to make one herself if that is not the case. Out of all the pieces she has saved, this is the only one that commemorates a draw.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She obtained the very first piece in her collection before she even joined the circle.

Vivienne made the long journey from the Free Marches to Orlais once every year. Her family must have seemed peculiar to her friends, but it was the only type of family she had ever had.

Her mother was married to a perfectly pleasant man, a moderately successful painter who had never detested Vivienne for what she was. Her mother was a seamstress whose work was appreciated by the Duke of Wycome. They lived well for a family of commoners and Vivienne had intended to follow in her mother’s footsteps but had the ambition to take her talents to Orlais. 

It was a peculiar situation to be in and it was only when she had moved to the circle that she had fully understood just how unusual her family had been. It had been a secret to most outside of a trusted circle of friends but never something shameful. Just something you did not speak of in the Free Marches.

Her father had a minor estate in eastern Orlais, a family consisting of a wife and three children. A son and two daughters, all older than Vivenne. Although they accepted her as a relative, she had never quite become part of the family. They knew of her father’s mistress across the sea and in true Orlesian fashion treated it as something to be expected but not truly appreciated. It was always understood that she had no legal claim to a title or any inheritance from her father and thus she was no threat to them. Vivienne had never felt any resentment towards her father’s family and was perfectly content to build her own future.   
She typically stayed in Orlais a dozen weeks and took great care to learn its customs and politics. It was her intelligence that had caused her father to take a greater interest in her than custom usually dictated. She suspected it was caused by the fact that none of his other children seemed to take any interest in politics, something that was borderline shameful in Orlais. Years later, during a chance encounter with her father outside the Winter Palace, she learned that he had secretly considered making her his official heir until she had developed magical abilities. 

He ensured that she was educated far beyond what could have been expected for a young girl with no title. She had been given full access to the estate’s library and he had paid for a tutor to help train her in Wycombe. He allowed her to be present when they had guests and even discussed political matters with her during dinner. 

When she had not been preoccupied with her studies, she had played with the other children that lived in the estate. Noble and servant alike. She often made certain to bring garments she’d made during her months in Wycombe as gifts and a sign of goodwill.

In the early hours of the morning, before the rest of the family rose, she played chess with her father. It was one of the few chances they had to speak in private. He was a kind, intelligent man who privately rejected many of the vices of noble life. He was a hard worker, knew the names and stories of all his servants, and knew the inns and outs of his estates. She learned that he never truly appreciated the Great Game and played only to the extent that it kept his family safe and accepted. She suspected he preferred the strategies of the battlefield to those of the court.

During her last visit, he gifted her with a chess set made entirely from crystal. It was an extravagant gift and although she at the age of eleven should know better, she had hugged him in front of their guests. Two weeks later, she left the estate for Wycombe.

Five months after her return, her magic showed. It had begun as a game. They had chased each other near the docks on their way back home from the town square. One of the other children had thrown a bucket of water towards her and she did not realise what had happened until the heard the gasps of the people around her. The thrown water fell to the ground between them and shattered, shards of ice exploding in every direction. There had been a moment of dreadful silence before the shouting had started. Suddenly it turned into a very different kind of chase than an innocent game. She ran towards her home and when one of the fishermen caught her arm, she panicked. The blast froze four of them. She’d later learn that one of them had shattered when they tried to free him from the spell. 

That night, the Templars came to their home and she learned that she was to be brought to the circle at Ostwick. She had not even known that magic ran in her family. The instructions were simple. Pack quickly, clothes only. Say your goodbyes to your family and be ready to leave within twenty minutes. They had been firm but not cruel, they didn’t mock her tears or degrade her family. When she explained the situation, they’d even allowed her to write a brief note to be sent to her father. She had managed to smuggle one small keepsake with her by hiding it in her boot after they had already searched her.

Years later, as the sun set over Skyhold and the Tevinter magister was brought forward for judgement in front of the entire Inquisition, Vivienne watched from her alcove. In her left hand, hidden from sight, she clutched her oldest possession and her greatest reminder of the cost of uncontrolled magic. A black crystal King.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was not so much a game as it was a duel to the death via proxy.

Vivienne has danced with death, outwitted demons, and slain dragons. This is the only battle she has ever truly resented. This is personal, practical, and above all, political. They have forsaken traditional pieces for wisps of magic. It may be primitive and a borderline vulgar display of pettiness. For once in her life, Vivienne would not care if the Court heard she opted for a less refined method.

She knew Leliana was watching them, most likely in person from the shadows, but there were several of her scouts in the gardens. Solas and Cole seemed to have been drawn to the herbalist’s corner of the gardens and she was grateful that the apostate kept the Inquisition’s pet demon at bay. There were others, she bit back the instinct to ask them to duck for cover. Standing between two mages was never a good idea. Standing between two warring mages would have been suicide.

They entered the second hour of their game when her Tower claimed her opponent’s Queen, lightning striking from its top and turning the burning Queen into ashes. Her face revealed nothing of her pleasure. Her strategy emphasised drawing the game out, confusing her opponent, and using her King as lure. Vivienne had no intention of letting her opponent’s impulsive nature catch her off guard.

 

In the fourth hour, she sacrificed her knights and several pawns. A bishop. Her opponent smiled as the pieces burned. Vivienne kept her expressions neutral, there was no point in showcasing success or failure as discretely as Antivans declared their love.

In the fifth hour, victory was hers. She had gambled and it had paid off. It was not often her opponents walked straight into traps sprung only an hour before. The ‘check’ she’d spoken in the middle of what had appeared a defensive strategy had caught her opponent off guard, causing her to panic and foolishly move her king. That had been everything Vivienne needed.

“Do not fret, my dear. We all understand you were facing terrible conditions when you had to play by the actual rules of the Game, Morrigan.”     
  
For a brief second, she thought the apostate would set the entire gardens on fire. Instead, there’s a huff and an insult she did not bother to listen to. Then she was alone at the board, remnants of magic floated half an inch above the squares.

  
  
It was her own Queen she kept from the game, a small figure of dense lightning. Stored in an enchanted compartment of her treasure box, where it could not damage her other pieces. Behind triple locks and two magical barriers, she sealed her most personal victory.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Searching the Exalted Planes for a circle tome, Vivienne is reminded of the price many loyalist mages have already paid. The journey is not made better by the Inquisitor's decision to encourage the least palatable person in all of Thedas to accompany them.

The ash stirs around her feet, no traces of the heat that turned walls into coal. She knows there used to be a circle around here, before the civil war broke out and before the rebellion. It is her first visit to the Exalted Planes and she hopes it will be her last. Freemen without a plan, soldiers who obey blind orders, and the Dalish trying to pretend none of it is actually happening. The planes are a chaotic wasteland and it is everything she prayed she would never see. 

The Inquisitor is one of the few people in Skyhold she considers a friend, someone who understands that politics is a necessary component of trying to change the world. She has to admit that she did not expect a Dalish mage to become her closest ally. The Inquisitor had asked Cassandra and Sera to accompany them. Vivienne had no disagreement with Cassandra, they both had their roles to play in this world and understood that risks and ideals held equal value. The Red Jenny on the other hand was driving Vivienne out of her own mind. Vivienne had yet to encounter a demon that had irked her more than the blonde elf. It was the last person in all of Skyhold she had hoped to have by her side when wandering through ruins.

A crow laughs as they pass and Vivienne could hardly blame it. The winds increase in strength as they turn a corner and from out of no where, a handful of ashes landed in her eyes. 

“Bitch.”

The word was barely a whisper but it is immediately followed by the most unnerving and uncivilised laughter Vivienne ever had the misfortune of learning to associate with a person. It was tempting to set the archer’s clothes on fire. Severe lack of breeches was apparently the height of comedy these days. She cleaned her eyes and prayed she had not accidentally inhaled the remains of an unfortunate individual caught in the fighting. Neither Cassandra nor the Inquisitor seemed to have noticed the undignified prank and Vivienne had no desire to reveal she had been caught off guard. She suspected that a month locked in a closed room with the elf would be enough to drive any mage to blood magic, but instead of becoming an abomination or having to spend the rest of their journey trying to avoid looking at Sera’s uncovered nether regions, she settled for a sigh. 

“It must be over there, by those ruins” Thankfully Cassandra provided a distraction from the unpleasant scenarios Vivienne’s mind had decided to run through. 

“It does appear you are correct, Seeker” Vivienne agreed.

 

The building barely stood as it was, rubble covering what possibly remained of the floor. She was certain this had never been a tower, not enough stone. It took her a moment to realise that it must have been a templar outpost before the war had claimed it, few items and very spartan furniture. There were three corpses in there. Two in broken templar armour and one left bare. She could see the telltale signs of a mage’s assassination. No traces of a struggle. Templar armour cracked from being frozen, corpse oddly well preserved. The one without armour had been burned, and a wave of nausea hit her. 

Vivienne breathed through her mouth, trying desperately not to feel the smell of decay and traces of magic. It did not take a genius to put together what had happened. The burned corpse had been a mage, most likely. The charred remains of mage at a templar outpost burned by magical fire? A loyalist, then. Only a loyalist would have sought shelter with templars.

It was Ellana who found the tome and Vivienne’s must have looked ashen by the time the tome was handed to her. The concerned look on the Inquisitor’s face forced her to smile.

  “Thank you, my dear. It was most kind of you to help me search for this.” Vivienne is quite certain she heard Sera mockingly call a crow ‘darling’ somewhere west of them.

“Do you need a moment? There might be something we’ve missed.” There was little question that the Inquisitor had noticed the matter.

“Thank you, but we must…” Vivienne faltered “Perhaps you are right.”

 

The others were gathering rashvine and geological samples if the sounds and curses were anything to go by. Vivienne searched the ruins carefully. A few copper coins half hidden among the rubble must have escaped the looters. No fabrics, undoubtedly blankets were a luxury in a war. A few books, a copy of Hard In Hightown caused her to smile despite herself. Then she once again noticed the scent of burned human flesh and wondered, not for the first time, why magic made death smell so much more pungent.

In the corner of the ruin, there was a broken table, crushed by a fallen beam. Beneath it gleamed the iconic black and white squares and Vivienne’s eyes stung. She blamed it on the ashes and the residual magic. She blinked faster as she searched the ground near it. Most of the pieces must have disappeared or been burned, but she found a single pawn two feet from the unclad corpse. Scorched and charred. Less than two thirds of it remained intact. Without thinking, she hid it in her coat pocket and swallowed the lump in her throat. 

By the time she caught up with the rest of the group, she had regained the bounce in her step and her expression mildly disinterested. Rashvine was no cause for excitement. She doubted anyone but the Inquisitor had noticed her missteps and she had no intention of announcing it.   

“Arrow in the butt!” The humourless jester shouted and howled with laughter.  

A poor halla had fallen to one of Sera’s arrows and Vivienne could not think of a less dignified end for a truly elegant animal. The trip back to Skyhold would be long and arduous.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vivienne obtains lost documents from the Kirkwall Circle.

They had not been easy to obtain, Kirkwall had been a city in ruins and the scavengers had claimed what little of value there was. She had tried her mage contacts first in the hopes that some archivist had thought to claim them, and when the mages had failed her, she had tried politics. The Free Marches were notoriously difficult to cooperate with and the actions of Starkhaven had made it nearly impossible to create diplomatic ties with the dishevelled city and even most spies had abandoned Kirkwall for more profitable and less perilous work. Finally, she had turned to Varric. A few favours had been traded and he had not hid his concern when he’d delivered the expectedly small wooden box to her.

Vivienne knew her reputation, she had cultivated it herself, but these documents were not intended for blackmail and eventually she had been able to convince the dwarf that this was not a part of the Grand Game. It may be vaguely associated with it, but this information was far too important to be taken lightly. Not to mention that blackmail was far too simplistic a method for anyone wishing to excel at the Game. She had retired to one of the forgotten rooms in Skyhold’s lower library. Rooms typically used for private conversations, hiding the sounds of desperate tears after a battle, and those who sought to shield themselves from prying eyes. 

Her heartbeat increased as she unlocked the box, not certain if she hoped her suspicions were correct or inaccurate. The box was heavy, larger on the inside like so many enchanted objects. The first item she encountered was a small note, addressed to her personally.

‘Madame de Fer, this is everything left of the fortress in the gallows. Found it in a place that doesn’t exist’

Vivienne could have kicked herself. Of course, everything of importance that went missing in Kirkwall seemed to end up in the Emporium sooner or later. She had visited the place with the Inquisitor a mere month before she had began her search. 

Beyond the note, the box contained four notebooks in a surprisingly good condition, a chess set, and an enchanter’s tool set. The books were blank when she opened them, the pages seemingly untouched by human hands. No stains, no marked corners, and no ink. Clever. No common methods of unveiling hidden text seemed to work and she put the books aside.

The chess set hummed with lyrium when she touched it and a quick glance at the tools made her chuckle. Either someone had taught a tranquil how to amuse themselves or it was a most cruel coincidence. In the last few years before the war broke out, the mages had developed several supposedly secret means of communication. No one would suspect that secret messages were passed between mages through what appeared as poorly played chess. Sometimes, the simplest things proved to be the most efficient. Despite her departure from the Circle in Montsimmard, she had taken great care to learn the method. 

She carefully put the pieces on the floor as she opened the board and felt it shiver. She wondered if templars could have sensed anything beyond decorative enchantments seemingly done for honing one’s skills as an enchanter. It was a marvellous board and she could not help but wonder what had happened to the crafty soul who had created it. The magic was hidden beneath the lyrium. Simple but elegant in its own way. As she placed the pieces on the board, they seemed to vibrate in excitement. 

At first she tried a simple message as she placed each individual piece, but the pieces immediately returned to their assigned positions on the board. Apparently this contraption would not allow someone else to run its show. White moved first, an invisible hand guiding it on the board. There was only thing to do.

 

It took her fourteen rounds to beat it. Running between her duties to the Inquisition and the hidden game in the cellar became a routine, another set of rules to the political game. When the white King fell, the pieces flew off the board and scattered in every direction. It seemed they had captured some form of spirit magic in the board and it swirled before settling into familiar shapes.   “Blessed are they who stand before  The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.”

She had expected many things, but not a prayer. She read it out loud, as much to herself as to the board. There were no discrepancies in the text, no indication that it was a cipher or a riddle. 

It seemed hopeless and after another two hours she hid the set under her folded coat and brought it to her desk. Lunch did not cause a sudden surge of inspiration and Vivienne decided to give it a rest. She brought a white bishop with her, ensuring no one would be able to see the hidden message without her permission.

 

 

That night she awoke with a simple phrase echoing in her mind.  
‘Benedictions 4:10’

She dressed quietly, careful not to alert any of the other mages in their shared quarters. Vivienne quietly longed for the day when repairs had progressed enough for individual rooms to be available to some of them. She had bribed people for far more trivial things in the past.

It had taken her far too long to realise that the items surely must be an entire set to be sold together at the Black Emporium. She could have kicked herself as she tried to not run up the stairs. Tailoring one’s movements to suit a prepared alibi was never something she had been particularly fond of but had been forced to master early on in her career. 

The items are where she left them, locked in another enchanted box no one had ventured near since she had retired for the night. She left the chess set in the box and focused instead on the books. A single candle illuminated her desk and she was grateful that only two guards were stationed in the Great Hall. They were used to her working odd hours, a habit born from insomnia and discretion years ago.

The third notebook was different from the others. On the very first page, a thin pale line could be made visible if held close to a candle. Vivienne hesitated before she reached for her inkwell and a feathered pen. One small drop. Gone.

Praying under her breath, Vivienne wrote the words “Benedictions 4:10”.

The ink seemed to spread across the entire page, soaking through layer after layer and for one frightening moment, she was convinced she had destroyed it. Then it began to fade. Gradually. Soon, only letters covered the page.  Trying to control her heartbeat, Vivienne began to read.

 

 

 

"Blessed are those who stand against the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.  Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.” 

He nearly drew his sword in surprise and it granted her no small measure of satisfaction. Vivienne bit back her rage.

“That would be my desk you are using, Vivienne.” The Commander recovered quickly. 

“Am I to expect tranquility as your retribution?” She rose an eyebrow, perhaps a tad too theatrically.

“No. I… What are you talking about?” Cullen’s expression was that of a man who had the feeling that the day had gone horribly wrong but could not pinpoint exactly when it had occurred.

“Forty-two uses of the brand in a single year? Signed by you personally, my dear.” 

Cullen closed the door behind him firmly and she heard him sigh before he turned to face her again.  “I have told you and anyone who cared to listen that I am not proud of what happened in Kirkwall.”

“Not proud? A mage died after four of your men had had their wicked ways with him and your response was to dock their pay for two weeks.” Vivienne folded her hands, both for the sake of appearances but also because she could feel sparks threatening to dance around her fingertips. “There are many things I am not proud of. Having worn a mask that did not match my outfit at my first ball. Slipping in a blizzard I had personally created. Being unable to make my forced compliments to Skyhold’s cook sound truly genuine. If that is what it takes for you to feel a lack of pride, I cannot help but wonder what is required for you to feel true regret.”

“Vivienne, why bring this up now?”

“Because Templars like you are a part of the reason why this war began and an obstacle that must be overcome if the Circle is ever to be reformed.” She paused. “If not even the Commander of the Inquisition’s Army can admit his role in what caused this foolish war, then how can we expect to ever curb this chaos? How can we ask our mages to trust us when that means they should place their trust in a man who failed to protect them so many times before?”

“I left the Order long ago.” He frowned, she could not tell if it was fatigue or annoyance that caused him to shrug. “Surely you must see that I have not continued down that path. Would you see me chained to the gallows for years?”

“Chained to the Gallows? Have you taken any responsibility for your actions? Have you even attempted to make amends to those of our mages who came from the Kirkwall circle?” She sneered. “Do you even know that they still fear being made tranquil?”

“We have never performed that ritual in the Inquisition, which you know as well as I do. I made mistakes and all I can do is ensure that they are not repeated. Surely you do not believe I swore off lyrium for the novelty?”

“Darling, what does it matter if you have changed if no one hears about it? It is not the Inquisitor or Cassandra you need to convince, it is the mages. Like it or not, you remain a symbol of the Order. Knight Commander Meredith may be gone, but you stand here as a reminder of exactly what the order was capable of. Forty-two in one single year, Commander.”

“What do you want me to do? Would you see me flogged in public until I have bled for my sins? Until I beg for forgiveness?” He began pacing in front of the desk, hands twitching and shaking. 

“I’m certain that should be saved for the Orlesian court. No, Commander, you could start with letters. Send a note to each Kirkwall mage in our ranks, be polite. Try some diplomacy, for once. Invite senior mages and ask for their advice regarding safety measures that concern them.” 

“Vivienne, why does this interest you? Why do you care what the rebel mages think of a former templar? This cannot possibly win you any favours.”

“Darling, I am a politician, not a sadist. Nor am I stupid. These mages rebelled once and will do so again if cornered. The last thing either of us wants is for Skyhold to be overtaken by abominations.” She sighed. “You are not the only person in the Inquisition who has ever fallen to corruption. I work in Orlais, I know corruption when I see it. Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.”  He sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck as he examined the floor. The silence stretched between them for what seemed like hours. Vivienne watched his shoulders sink. 

 “Letters, you say?”

  “Letters.”

  “I’ll need my desk for that.”


End file.
